


Dying Men are Honest Men

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (just a smidgen), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Character Study, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Sort Of, almost canon compliant, also thanks to delirium the last few lines are some slightly less pure confessions, and just a dash of Crack, just saying, the first half is anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: On his knees on the pier, a literal gun to his head, Edward finally stops lying to himself.Too bad that it's too late to do anything about it, though.





	Dying Men are Honest Men

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of fics about this scene recently, so I figured I'd throw in my own take. Plus, with all the series I'm working on atm, it's great to do something short!

The wind blew across the water, neither gentle nor harsh. Well, not harsh by Gotham standards, anyway. Beneath Edward’s knees he could feel the rough concrete, scraping through his pants to his shins. The pressure on his wounded thigh was agony, outdone only by the pain in his mouth and worse - the humiliation and despair that plagued his mind. Humiliation because he had failed to be the man he had spent his life trying to prove he could be, because he would be killed by men that were worth so much _less_ than he knew he was. Despair because he was about die, and because he was sure no one would miss him.

 

Well, his brain supplied, that might not be entirely true…

 

He took a deep breath of the fishy air, closing his eyes as his brain bombarded him with the truth he had fought back for so long. It was true what they said - men who are about to die are honest. And the only person around that Edward had been lying to was himself.

 

Would he really have allowed himself to be tortured and killed for his nemesis-turned-tenuous-ally? Would he have ever made an alliance with someone he hated as much as he had claimed to hate Oswald?

 

Simply put, he would not.

 

Here, in the chill air and damp atmosphere - here, where he had tried to shoot his best friend _twice_ \- he would finally be honest with himself.

 

He wished there were a way he could tell Oswald. In fact, as the truth sank in, the depth of his feelings for the other man, he felt a calmness wash over him. It was right that he should die here. It was right that he should die for Oswald. This was his penance, his way to atone for the sins committed against the man he loved. He knew Oswald was partly to blame, but Oswald had no more forced his hand than he had forced Oswald’s. Oswald was fully responsible for betraying him, Edward knew this, but likewise Edward was fully responsible for all his acts of revenge. And considering he had loved Oswald for so long, he knew he had gone far too far.

 

So now, at last, he would get his chance for redemption. To be shot in the very same spot as Oswald, to be shot protecting Oswald from Sofia Falcone and buying his friend and ally the chance to take his revenge upon her - it was the most fitting end imaginable.

 

He didn’t know if Oswald would grieve for him or not. He didn’t know which option he wished for, either. He just hoped Oswald would understand why he had done it.

 

His reverie was interrupted by the goons at his back. He cursed them over and over again. That these morons should be the ones to defeat him was nearly unbearable, the metaphorical salt in the not-so-metaphorical wound. The whole ride there he had put up with their taunts, their jeers, and their sadistic delight in continuing his torture to the very end. They went out of their way to hit bumps that would jar his leg and jaw, and they even got a few hits of their own in while transferring him to and from the vehicle.

 

And now, on top of everything else, one of them decided to tell a riddle. And not just any riddle, but the worst riddle he had ever heard.

 

“What’s got a bullet in its head and sinks to the bottom of the river?” the goon laughed, “You.”

 

Edward couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, “The real torture is that those idiotic words will be the last I ever hear.”

 

He closed his eyes again, waiting for death to come and release him from the pain of living, both physical and emotional. Waiting for the bullet that would serve as his apology. The wait dragged on and the chaos of his emotions washed over him.

 

Humiliation and despair once again, the sense of justice at his own demise, but even more acutely a deep, illogical desire for Oswald. He was scared and alone, and he craved comfort. Needed Oswald to hold him and tell him it would be okay and most importantly forgive him. He felt with startling clarity the pain at the revelation that he would never get the chance to tell Oswald he was sorry, that he really did love him. He would never get the chance to see him again, at least not in this life.

 

_That_ was a torture he couldn’t endure.

 

“JUST DO IT!” he screamed, pent up emotions getting the better of him, knuckles white as he used what strength he had left to clench his fists. He needed this to end _now_.

 

Two gunshots sounded from behind him and he flinched, waiting for a brief burst of pain and then nothing.

 

Instead, he felt the thuds of two large bodies falling to the ground on either side of him. He jumped, instincts overriding thought as he realized he might be able to survive, if only he could dispatch this newer threat. He grabbed hold of one of the fallen thug’s guns, moving as quickly as he could to point it at the newcomer.

 

When he saw Oswald standing there, somewhat bedraggled but otherwise his usual collected self, three thoughts flashed through his mind in the following order:

 

_He must have died, and his sacrifice hadn’t been enough. Oswald would be his own personal hell, torturing him for all eternity._

 

_Except, Edward didn’t believe in an afterlife, so Oswald was a hallucination, here to torment him again - perhaps with more provocative performances._

 

_But hallucinations couldn’t kill, and the goons were clearly dead, which meant that Oswald had to be real._

 

“Oswald?” his brow furrowed, “How? Did you already kill Sofia?”

 

Surely it can’t have gone down that quickly. What was he missing? How was Oswald here? _Why_ was Oswald here?

 

“No,” Oswald said simply.

 

_No_.

 

Edward had been kidnapped and tortured and almost shot for Oswald’s chance at revenge. Was he saying he’d given all that up? And for what?

 

“She left the mansion,” Oswald continued calmly, as if in explanation, “to pursue _Jim Gordon_.”

 

So she wasn’t at the mansion. What did that matter?

 

“Why didn’t you just stay at the home? Wait ‘til she came there and killed her?” It was the logical thing to do, after all.

 

But Oswald was looking at him as if he were missing the obvious, a look that had always frustrated Edward because he knew he had a tendency to do just that. He just wanted to _understand_.

 

“Then I wouldn’t have been here on time,” Oswald replied, as if that were the natural conclusion. As if that made any sense at all.

 

The chaos in Edward’s mind returned with gusto as he tried to decipher what this all meant. A gesture of goodwill? A debt Oswald thought he owed? A sacrifice?

 

_Don’t you remember your own words?_ His other side mocked him, and with a jolt of terror he realized he was having trouble distinguishing who was who. The Riddler had taken the torture, of course - that had been his original purpose, after all. But which side was in control of his emotions? Did he even really have two sides anymore?

 

But his old words were there, haunting his memory.

 

_Love is about sacrifice. It’s sacrificing your own happiness for someone else’s_.

 

“You gave up your revenge for me?” he asked, and he sounded painfully hopeful, even to his own ears. Oswald looked at him, a look so intense that Edward felt more vulnerable than he would have felt naked. It wasn’t his body that was bared here, but his soul - open to Oswald’s every scrutiny.

 

“Trust is so very hard to find in Gotham,” Oswald said eventually, “but I trust you, Ed.”

 

The words struck him to his very core. Oswald _trusted_ him? _Edward?_ He trusted _Edward?_ But… _how? WHY?_

 

Questions upon questions swirled around in his head, but he couldn’t get any of them past his lips. He needed to make a declaration of his own, something to tell Oswald that he was on the same page, that he trusted Oswald too.

 

“I have a strong desire,” he began, knowing the words were hardly adequate, “to never, ever see this pier again.”

 

Oswald lifted an eyebrow, perhaps meant to give a dose of sarcasm to his exaggerated response, “I agree.”

 

Edward made it back to the car Oswald had stolen without too much difficulty. His wounds were excruciating, but he knew he could make it. He was more preoccupied by his guilt. He had been so distraught at the idea of dying without ever confessing his feelings to Oswald, but now that Oswald was here and the threat of death did not loom quite so large, the words seemed to stick in his throat.

 

Like a coward, he let Oswald bring it up first.

 

“I heard you yell on the pier,” he said eventually, over an hour after he had finished dressing Edward’s wounds and they were sitting on a couch in one of his safe houses, “Why were you egging them on?”

 

Edward looked down at his hands, twisting into the fabric of the robe Oswald had given him, wanting him out of the blood-soaked suit. It was a different robe and a different couch, but he couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this and another night that Oswald had saved his life.

 

“I - I thought that, maybe, if I took a bullet for you, in the place where I’d shot you, you might, someday, forgive me,” he admitted at last. Oswald stared at him, only increasing his nervousness.

 

“Oh, Ed... I’ve _already_ forgiven you,” Oswald told him, and Edward felt his world spin.

 

“What?”

 

“I realized my mistakes long ago,” he said, “and by saving Martin you more than made up for the parts that were your fault.”

 

“You forgive me?” he breathed, feeling a lightness he hadn’t felt in over a year.

 

Oswald hesitated before placing a hand on Edward’s uninjured knee, “Of course I have. Have you forgiven me?”

 

It was an interesting question. Edward knew now that he loved Oswald, but did he forgive him?

 

And the answer, as plain as the pain in Edward’s mouth, was that of course he did.

 

“Yes,” Edward whispered, feeling an intensity about the moment that intimidated him, causing his voice to drop.

 

“I’m glad,” Oswald smiled at him, before removing his hand and standing up. On instinct, Edward’s own hand shot out and grabbed it, not too tight, but just enough to let him know he didn’t want him to go.

 

“Ed?”Oswald turned around, concern on his face, “Are you alright?”

 

“I - I - no,” he finally got out, “No, I’m not alright. I’ve been lying to you - and to myself - for far too long, and I can’t stand to do it any longer.”

 

“Lying?” Oswald’s brow rose in surprise, “About what?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Edward mustered all the courage he had ever possessed, “I understand it’s too late - far too late - to say this, and I understand you’ll probably be angry, or even annoyed at me for this, but I have to tell you. I - I have had… _feelings_ for you for, well, since you stayed in my apartment, quite honestly. Maybe even before, although I hardly knew you. After you betrayed me, I was afraid to let you know because I figured you would simply exploit my feelings until you had had your fill and then throw me on the street or have me killed. And… and I didn’t _want_ to like you. So I lied to you, and I lied to myself. But - but we aren’t fighting anymore, I don’t think. And when I thought I was going to die there, all I wanted was the chance to tell you everything. And to see you, one last time. I’m sorry. For this, and for everything else too.”

 

There was complete silence in the safe house. Edward took a steadying breath and stood up, “I won’t overstay my welcome. I’m sure you’d rather not see me just now, so I’ll show myself out. I… I hope we can still be friends, at least.”

 

“Wait,” Oswald called to him, and he froze obediently.

 

“You really meant all that?”

 

“I did,” Edward answered warily, waiting for a rebuke or perhaps even a punishment.

 

“I - _Ed_ , you have to have noticed.”

 

“Noticed what?” Edward frowned, feeling uncomfortably out of the loop.

 

“ _God, ED,_ I - I love you. I haven’t stopped. You _must_ know that…”

 

“You what?” Edward’s eyes were wide, his heartbeat speeding up as Oswald approached him. Oswald stopped right in front of him, laying a hand on his cheek, cupping his face ever so gently, mindful of his injuries, and said, “I love you. I’ve loved you since that night on the couch, and I’ve never stopped.”

 

“Not even after I shot you?”

 

“Not even after you shot me. I haven’t stopped, and I’m not going to. Don’t you get it?”

 

“Not really,” he pouted.

 

Oswald dropped his hand to Edward’s and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to it, “Does this make more sense?”

 

Perhaps it was the simplicity of it, or the straightforwardness. Perhaps it was because Edward had come to doubt his ability to interpret the hidden meanings in people’s words. Whatever the reason, he found that oddly enough, it _did_ make more sense. Edward nodded.

 

“Good. I would kiss you properly, but I don’t want to hurt you more.”

 

Edward looked at him, desire welling up, and shrugged, “I don’t care. I like it rough,” and went ahead and kissed Oswald square on the mouth. Oswald kissed back with equal ferocity, until Edward whimpered slightly from the pain. Oswald pulled back instantly, a string of apologies on his lips.

 

Edward rolled his eyes, but the injuries _had_ hurt more than he’d anticipated, “How about you hold me instead?”

 

Oswald was amenable and hurried to sit Edward down on the couch and curl around him protectively. Edward sighed as he leaned back into him, this sort of affection and security was all he’d ever really wanted.

 

Once the pain flares had gone down again, he let himself laugh. Oswald turned to him, asking, “What is it?”

 

Light-headed from the pain, Edward's tongue loosened enough to say, “As soon as I’m better, we should try a more controlled form of pain. I really do like it when it’s not the product of literal torture, you know.”

 

Oswald stared at him, “Ed, what do you mean? I - I’m not going to _hurt_ you!”

 

“But,” Edward fluttered his eyelashes, “What if I asked really nicely?”

 

With a look of sheer disbelief, Oswald tucked Edward under his chin and simply replied, “We’ll see.”

 

Apparently, delirious men could be honest, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to share your thoughts on this, or the scene, or the show in general!


End file.
